The Girl and the Genie (12 page)

Chapter 11

The restaurant they ended up going to wasn’t anything fancy, but the food, while simple, was good and Winston was allowed to sit by their table. Emily and her mother both chose the roast chicken dinner, and for Winston, two hamburgers very rare. When Emily ordered a thirty dollar bottle of wine, Alice Mignon raised an eyebrow at the extravagance, but didn’t argue about it, although once the waiter left she asked whether Emily’s expense account would cover the wine. Emily lied and said it would.

The wine came before the food, and after a glass, Alice Mignon started crying.

“Mom?”

“I’m sorry, Emily, dear,” Alice Mignon said, sniffing back her tears. She stopped for a moment to use her napkin to mop up around her eyes. “I’m just so happy to see you. I miss you, and I worry so much about you being alone in that city without anyone to watch over you.”

Of course, Emily did have someone. A three thousand year-old genie. But that wasn’t something she could tell her mother.

“Mom, I’m a big girl now. And I do have someone now. I’ve got this tough, little guy.”

Winston let out a thin whimper, and rolled over onto his side, his eyes wide open as he watched Emily and her mother glancing down at him.

Alice Mignon nodded reluctantly, not arguing the point that at ninety pounds soaking wet Emily was far from big, or that Winston, while fat and chunky, wasn’t exactly a fearsome looking beast. She had another half a glass of wine, and then brought up Ethan.

“Do you know if he’s married, dear?” she asked, trying to appear as if it were only a casual question.

“Mom, what difference would that make? He’s a writer whom I’m working with, that’s all,” Emily said matter-of-factly, as if that was all Ethan was to her, and that she hadn’t built up a romantic fantasy involving him.

“I’m only making small talk, that’s all,” Alice Mignon said defensively. “After all, you never know what might happen. And the way you talk about him, well, it makes me wonder.”

“What do you mean the way I talk about him?”

“Now don’t get upset. You know exactly what I mean.” She paused, then added, “The last two months whenever we talk on the phone I hear the way you light up when you talk about him.”

“Mom, you’re mixing Ethan up with his work,” Emily said, “I’m excited by his work. He’s a brilliant writer. I don’t know him as a person.”

While what Emily told her mother was logically true, she didn’t believe it. In her gut she knew everything she needed to know about Ethan from his writing, but she wasn’t going to admit that to her mother. Alice Mignon took another sip of wine and half under her breath said, “Nothing wrong with marrying a brilliant writer. And it would be so nice to have you move back closer to home.”

“Mom, I’m here to do my job. That’s all. Don’t start expecting something that’s not going to happen. When I meet the right man—
if
I ever meet the right man—maybe I’ll get married then. Maybe not. And I’m certainly not moving back to the Midwest anytime soon.”

Emily was able to say this with full conviction. While she believed in her heart that Ethan would turn out to be the right man for her, it was possible also that he wouldn’t, and if that turned out to be the case, so be it. But if it turned out she was right about him, then she certainly wasn’t going to move to Eden Prairie or back to Des Moines. In her romantic fantasy—which she recognized was only a fantasy, but in her gut seemed much more than that—she and Ethan would live in New York, then London and Paris and other exciting cities before settling down.

Alice Mignon let the subject drop, but Emily knew her mother wasn’t buying what she had told her. At least not entirely. Once the food was brought over Emily asked her mother what type of car she’d like if she could have anything.

Alice Mignon sighed softly and shook her head. “Emily, dear, my car runs fine, it really does. A little rust and a few dents don’t mean a thing.”

“It’s more than just a little rust and a few dents. You’ve got the front bumper tied up with chicken wire, the trunk lock is busted, and I bet you still haven’t fixed the air conditioning, which hasn’t worked since I was in high school.” Emily waved all that away. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m just asking hypothetically. If you could have any car, what would you want? A Mercedes? A Cadillac? BMW?” Emily grinned wickedly. “A Ferrari?”

Alice Mignon laughed at the idea of her ever having one of those cars. “Is that what you’re planning to buy me once you become a hotshot editor publishing a bunch of bestselling authors?”

“I’m just asking a question, that’s all.”

Even though Alice Mignon was a little tipsy from the wine—she had had three glasses while her daughter had limited herself to a single glass—she mustered up a serious expression. “You’re not planning on doing something foolish, are you?”

“Like what?”

Alice Mignon squinted as she gave her a daughter a hard look, then shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said.

“As much as I’d like to, I’m not planning on buying you a car, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can’t. Assistant editors barely make enough money to take the bus. I’m just curious what type of car you’d want if you could have anything.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be one of those. It would be foolish to have to spend all that money on insurance and upkeep to own one of those types of cars. And I’d feel even more foolish driving to work in anything that expensive.” Alice Mignon tilted back her wine glass to finish off the last drops, then dabbed her napkin along her mouth. “I’m a simple person, Emily. You should know that by now. All I want is a car that runs. And that’s why I’m fine with my Chevy, even if it does have some years on it. And a little rust, too.”

Emily should’ve expected that answer. She let the matter drop so they could focus on their roast chicken and garlic mashed potatoes.

Later that night after they returned back to the motel, Emily needed some time to look at her editing notes and read over several sections of the manuscript. While she was doing this, she glanced up and noticed that her mother was crestfallen—that she had the same sort of look of utter disappointment that a young child might have on Christmas after racing to open her presents only to find socks and underwear instead of the toys she’d been hoping for. Her mother must’ve sensed that Emily was studying her, for she put down whatever it was she had been looking at and forced a wooden smile, and tried to act as if there was nothing wrong.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, dear,” Alice Mignon said stiffly, her hands folded in her lap.

It was only then that Emily realized that her mother had found Ethan’s publicity photo and that that was what had caused her distress. Realizing this made Emily’s cheeks redden.

“It’s a bad photo, that’s all. I’ve talked with him on the phone enough to know that’s not how he really is.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Alice Mignon said. She looked uncomfortable as she tried to smile at her daughter. “He looks like a fine, young man,” she forced out as her smile grew more brittle.

“Did you see the roses Ethan sent me?”

Alice Mignon glanced over at the roses. The sight of them didn’t change the brittleness of her smile. “Very nice, dear,” she said.

Winston began to stir then, making the whimpering noises which indicated that he needed to go out. Emily was grateful for the opportunity to flee the suite. It was more than being embarrassed by her mother’s reaction to Ethan’s photo. She was actually angry about it, as if her mother was siding up with Jack. She knew it was irrational for her to feel that way, but she couldn’t help herself.

“I’m going to take Winston out. I’ll be back soon.”

Emily closed her laptop computer, put it down on a nearby end table, and jumped up from her armchair. Moving at a determined pace, she grabbed her jacket, picked up Winston’s leash, and headed to the door. Alice Mignon called out that she would join her.

“That’s okay, Mom,” Emily yelled back, already walking out the door and with Winston scampering along behind her to keep up. “I like taking the little guy out by myself at night. It helps me relax.”

And then she was closing the door behind her, blithely ignoring her mother’s protests. For the next three blocks, Emily walked at that same headstrong, determined pace, with Winston having to trot to keep up. It was only then that she started to cool off. As she heard Winston panting heavily, she slowed her pace to something more normal, angry with herself for how she had reacted. She took several deep breaths to calm herself down more.

It’s not a good photo, she thought. I know he looks like he’s sneering in it. So of course my mom is going to react that way, especially since she had already picked Ethan out as her future son-in-law. It doesn’t mean anything. That’s not the way Ethan is. We’ll both see tomorrow that that’s not how he really is.

Emily took one last deep breath and let it out slowly. She felt better. Since leaving the motel, it was as if she’d had blinders on, but her tension had been released enough where she could pay more attention to her surroundings and actually notice that it was dusk out and she was on a heavily wooded residential street. She looked around to make sure there were no cars in sight and no one else walking nearby, and then she summoned Jack. As with all the other times she had summoned him, he appeared as quickly as if she had snapped her fingers. After he looked around enough to get his bearings, he arched an eyebrow and gave her a quizzical look.

“Hmm,” Jack said. “Miss Mignon, it may not be the best idea to summon me in a public place like this. But never mind that. What’s done is done. How may I be of service?”

Winston, on hearing Jack’s voice, wagged his tail, but was too busy sniffing an elm tree to do much else. Emily frowned at the genie’s implication that she might have been careless in summoning him there. “I made sure there was no one around before I called for you so that’s not an issue,” Emily said. “Besides, I had little choice about using this location. I had to call you somewhere away from my motel room since my mom is going to be staying with me for the next few days. I have another wish to make.”

That caused Jack’s eyebrow to arch up further, making a sharp upside down V.

“I want a new car for my mom. And here are the specifics.”

Emily described how she wanted her mother to win a contest the following day, and that the prize would be a new car, as well as fifteen thousand dollars to cover any income taxes that her mother might be incurring from this. Emily chose a safe, reliable car for her mom, nothing fancy, and she covered in explicit detail everything she could think of to make sure the car would run properly and not have any lurking problems. She was trying to leave nothing to chance, even specifying when the prize would be delivered to her mom. By the time she had finished with her wish, Jack’s eyes had dulled so that they resembled gray pebbles and a severe frown sagged his face.

“Miss Mignon, may I suggest that you instead wish for great wealth, and then simply buy your mother whatever car she would like? This seems like a roundabout and unnecessary way to accomplish what you want. I would hate to see you throw away another of your wishes. You will find that they grow more precious as you have fewer of them.”

“Jack, I appreciate your concern, but knowing that my mother is driving a safe and reliable car is all I want right now.” Emily said as straight-faced as she could while forcing a sickly-looking smile. It was possible that the genie was trying to look out for her. Maybe even probable. But it was also possible he wanted her to make a wish that could be distorted for mischief’s sake. Emily felt her smile hardening as she added, “Besides, I’ve heard how wishes of great wealth have turned out for others. Lawrence Willoughby, for example.”

“I see.” Jack’s severe frown turned more into a pained grimace. “And that’s why you’ve been asking for such modest wishes. You’re afraid that if you ask for something more significant, your wish will turn into something disastrous.”

“That’s what happens, isn’t it?”

“You mean with my past masters,” Jack said, wistfully. “Ah yes, their wishes may not have ended the way they would’ve liked, but Miss Mignon, for most of them their wishes turned out as they deserved. You, on the other hand, deserve otherwise. I promise you that I would not pervert or add in a loophole to any wish that you’d like to make.”

“But what if it doesn’t matter what your intentions are? What if it’s simply the way it works with genies? Or it’s a matter of fate? For now I’ll stick to wishing for only what I truly want. And keeping my wishes modest.”

Jack opened his mouth to argue with her, but saw it was pointless. His manner became more formal as he said, “Very well, Miss Mignon, your wish has been granted. You have five wishes remaining. For your sake, I hope you give them the proper amount of consideration. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Emily shook her head. “Nothing else, but if you’d like to walk with me, I’d welcome the company. And I’m sure Winston would also. But otherwise, no.”

“Very good. I’d find it a pleasure to walk with you, Miss Mignon. Thank you.”

They continued on in silence in the same direction that Emily had been heading earlier, with Winston particularly insistent on sniffing every tree they came across. Emily didn’t feel the need to talk and simply enjoyed the solitude of the night, and the sound of crickets and other night creatures that now seemed so foreign to her after her years of living in New York. She looked over at Jack who wasn’t so much walking as he was gliding, his gaze fixed somewhere off in the distance. Maybe he was enjoying the night air also, or maybe he was too disappointed in her
wasting
her wishes to want to talk with her then. Or it could’ve been something entirely different with him. Maybe it was all simply an act to gain her trust so he could manipulate her into making wishes that could be sabotaged in spectacular fashion. That was the thing with genies. As much as she felt she could trust him, she couldn’t know for sure, especially after understanding how badly Lawrence Willoughby’s wishes had turned out, and others also. It was possible that every master Jack had ever served had seen their wishes blown up on them, so why should she be the only one to actually have her wishes pay off? But maybe they would work out if she stuck with modest ones and kept away from the selfish variety of wishes, like asking for great wealth. Even if Jack had genuine feelings for her like she thought he did, it could simply be part of a genie’s nature to make sure that wishes of that sort turned out badly.